


Quintessential

by Alexa_Piper



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Body Horror, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Galra Keith (Voltron), Gen, I can't believe I wrote this what am I doing with my life, I should mention that there are needles in the second chapter, Not actually sure if the violence is gunna be that graphic, alright I lied there's gunna be a ton of emotional angst because I can't help myself, alternatively titled: sometimes you just gotta roll with the punches, but hopefully worldbuilding won't make it too unbelievable, but there is some stuff that people might consider a bit body horror-ish, forced transformation, in which I may just throw science out the window, maybe? - Freeform, not really any romance planed but you could definitely imply whatever you wanted, so heads up if that's a squick, sorry I just wanted Galra Keith and then this happened, sorta planning for this to be lance's pov, ummm - Freeform, ummm maybe there's also a bit of emotional angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-09-25 21:04:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9844160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexa_Piper/pseuds/Alexa_Piper
Summary: Sometimes your enemies don't actually intend to capture you. Sometimes, letting you go after doing what they want with you can be the worst possible thing. And sometimes, moving forwards can seem like the hardest thing you've ever faced, especially when you're purple.





	1. Lance and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone tries to follow protocol but sometimes protocol just does not work.

The blast tore through Lance’s slumber, jolting him into a confused, heart-pounding wakefulness. He tore off his sleeping mask, sirens beginning to howl over the speakers. The lights in his room had brightened from their dimmed night-cycle state automatically at the emergency alert, flickering from electrical surges in the aftermath of whatever had just exploded.

He pushed himself out of bed, swaying as his body pumped adrenaline through his system and flushed the sleep away. By the time Lance had reached his wardrobe, his hands trembled with his rapid heartbeat, but his eyes were clear and his brain was getting there. He didn’t even bother removing his pyjamas – the form-fitting flightsuit went straight over the top, and it took only fleeting moments to slide on the first pieces of his armour. It was better to be safe than sorry, and with the flickering lights and incessant sirens, Lance wasn’t stupid enough to leave his suit behind when there could very well be a breach in the hull of the Castle that would suck him out into the void of space regardless of whether he had bothered to put his helmet on or not.

A breach was super unlikely, but hey, anything could happen.

He grappled with his gloves, swore when his helmet slipped to the floor, retrieved it somewhat sourly, and once certain that he was ready to face whatever had rocked the ship not three minutes earlier, Lance strode out into the corridor.

Shiro had been faster than him, and was knocking frantically on Pidge’s door. After a heartbeat it slid open, the slight paladin outfitted for battle in her own set of armour. Lance glanced across at Keith’s door just in time to see him emerge as well, and Hunk and Coran appeared from their own respective rooms. Lance let out a slightly larger breath than usual, relief seeping through him and taking the edge off the adrenaline for a few moments. All six were there, resplendent in their armour and ready to go.

They moved towards their leader as one, Shiro’s voice sounding through their helmets’ speakers as the sirens continued to scream, the slow, whooping peals a signal of potential damage to the ship. “Good job, everyone! Remember what we practised – find the breach if there is one, but don’t get too close. If there are hostiles, wait for backup before engaging!”

Lance nodded as the team did, gravitating immediately towards Hunk. They each had pre-determined partners for different potential scenarios, and had drilled for each possible threat with their different team members. Every month their partnerships rotated for each disaster scenario, and during Voltron’s early days, it had helped to move through tensions as each individual was forced to learn more about every single one of their comrades. Hunk was his current breach partner, and Lance naturally fell into step beside him as they headed down their heavily-rehearsed path of damage patrol.

Hunk’s face was drawn through his visor when Lance glanced his way. “Did you hear the blast?”

Lance made an affirmative sound. “It woke me up,” he responded. The affirmative chatter of the rest of the team filtered through their speakers as well, growing quieter as the pairs moved along their own routes – without being boosted by the Lions’ interior interfaces, their helmets’ comms systems were hampered by the steel walls of the ship. The only way to communicate with somebody more than a few rooms away was to tap your helmet’s feed into the mainframe system of the Castle, but for circumstances such as this, it was undeniably easier to concentrate when the only person who you could hear breathing was the one you were partnered with, and right now for Lance, that person was Hunk.

“So this is definitely not a drill.”

They rounded a corner to head along a hallway that sloped downwards, and Lance shrugged. “Maybe something in the labs accidentally went off, but I for one wouldn’t put it past Allura to simulate an explosion to keep us on our toes.” They had all become somewhat blasé in their drills the past few weeks, and he would not have been surprised if the princess had grown frustrated by their seeming lack of urgency whenever the sirens began to sound. It was a normal thing, after all – humans grew accustomed to pretty much anything, given enough time. Alteans not so much, but then again, Lance reflected that maybe this resistance to negative change was what had contributed to their resident Alteans’ prolonged opposition to their enemies, and was the entire reason that Team Voltron had been formed again at all.

A tiny light set just to the side of his visor blinked on, and Lance’s gut clenched at the warning of loss of pressure in his exterior environment. It couldn’t be possible, but that little light was glowing yellow and growing steadily redder as the pressure continued to drop.

The sloping hallway evened out, opening into the storage bay that rested at the bottom of the Castle. It was lower than even the Lions’ hangars, and the two boys hesitated as they reached the end of the corridor. Each of them drew towards the opposite wall, both peeking around their respective corners and sweeping their eyes from the wall closest to them to the middle of the large room. Lance frowned as Hunk’s sharp gasp filtered through his comms, but completed his sweep of his side of the room before diverting his attention to his companion’s.

On the far right side of the storage bay, a large swathe of floor had been cleared. The shelves that had once stood in uniform rows were not only empty in that area, but completely gone, sucked out into space through the gaping hole in the hull of their ship.

His helmet cracked as it joined the mainframe, controlled by a remote command. Lance sagged against the wall in disbelief as Allura’s voice sounded through his comms for the first time. “The storeroom hull is breached,” she reported. “Lance, Hunk, I see you there. Do not move any closer.”

“Affirmative,” Lance managed, staring at the space where the shelves had been. Hunk answered similarly, his words lost as Lance’s ears buzzed with his rapid breathing. This couldn’t be possible – their ship was one of the most well-defended in any known galaxy! Its outer hull alone was so reinforced that it could fly through practically any atmosphere without issue, no matter how acidic the clouds or how hot the air. An explosion on the ship was one thing – it was not unheard of for some invention of Pidge’s or Hunk’s to suddenly decide that it no longer wanted to exist – but any damage had usually been to surrounding equipment, and not to the Castle itself.

The sirens changed, a faster, higher-pitched sound now overlaying that slow whooping.

Hostiles.

“I can’t see anyone!” Lance exclaimed, pushing himself off from where he had been leaning. “Allura, where are they?”

“They’re preparing to dock through the breach,” she said. “Paladins, move downstairs! Lance, Hunk, seal the corridor. Shiro, Coran, you seal the stairwell, and Pidge and Keith, please disable the elevator to the cargo bay.”

Lance swore, keying his unique code into the keypad recessed into the wall. On the other side Hunk was doing the same thing, applying a second layer to the lock should their invaders attempt to hack their way inside.

With a pneumatic hiss, a seamless metal door several feet thick rose from the floor and settled into its grooves, effectively sealing the corridor off from the damaged room. Over the Castle’s speakers, an affirmation of the door’s now-closed condition informed the others of their success. The pressure light in Lance’s helmet paused in its continual reddening, and with a verbal command an indicator overlaid his visor’s smooth surface. Pressure was at forty-five per cent, and slowly increasing again as the Castle’s ventilation system did its work.

With another command the overlay vanished, and Lance sent Hunk a shaky smile. “Good job,” he said, and Hunk sent him a thumbs up with a smile of his own.

 _Lower stairwell sealed,_ the speakers announced. Tension began to bleed out of Lance’s shoulders, and he retreated down the hallway with Hunk. They paused several strides from the door, standing guard and effectively waiting for any further instructions. Both activated their bayards, alert and ready should anything attempt to break through.

Hunk’s dry swallow was clear over their linked speakers, and Lance turned his gaze towards his friend. Their eyes met, and Lance mouthed “You okay?”

Hunk nodded slightly, taking a deep breath that crackled through the comms. “Just nervous,” he mouthed back.

Lance gave his own nod before focussing on the door again. They were probably thinking the same thing – that whatever was attempting to infiltrate the Castle had easily blown a hole the size of a large house through the eight-metre hull, and should thus have no problem with a door only a few feet think.

_Cargo bay elevator disabled._

At the announcement, Lance sighed, and little lights in his helmet lit up in the colours of his fellow paladins and one by one they were connected to the mainframe. A cacophony of breathing filtered through, a soft but harsh backdrop to the sudden banging that vibrated as much through the floor and walls as it sounded through the air.

“Paladins, regroup in the hangar,” Allura ordered. “The enemy has one large ship flanked by half a dozen smaller ones, and are attempting to dock through the breach. Do not engage on foot.”

Lance nodded, sounding the affirmative along with his team. Hunk fell into step beside him, and together they raced for the level above, Lance matching his stride to Hunk’s shorter one so as to not leave his comrade behind. Until they reached their Lions or were otherwise cleared of danger, pairs were not to separate.

When they reached their destination, Keith and Pidge were already there, approaching their Lions and lowering the ramps to board. As Shiro and Coran burst through the airlock behind him, Lance deactivated his bayard, peeled off from Hunk, and strode purposefully towards Blue. He moved effortlessly through the barrier, smiling slightly as she dipped her head and opened her jaw for him to climb inside. No matter what the situation, Blue always made Lance feel better.

Pidge was ready by then, her hangar doors opening with the rushing sound of encroaching vacuum. Before Green could actually move through the gap, or Lance could even begin to board Blue, several small, round objects soared though the open doors.

Everybody knew what they were instantly, but as soon as they hit the ground, there was an overwhelming wave of static that engulfed Lance’s speakers. As one, the Lions froze in position, their circuits blocked and power shut off by the waves from the EMPs. The team’s armour was just as affected, lights blinking out, systems going offline, the crackling giving way to terrifying silence.

Lance spun, checking immediately on his friends. Keith had stopped halfway up Red’s ramp, turning back to the hangar floor as he whipped out his bayard. The weapon ceased to activate, its own technology blocked by the blast.

A hatch opened beneath Green’s chin, and Pidge slid out of this emergency exit. The group moved towards Shiro, their ears ringing in the sudden radio silence. He motioned with his hands, a gesture to retreat and regroup, and as one they headed back to the airlock. Lance sidestepped Keith, settling with Hunk on one side and Coran on the other – his current ship damage and hostile invasion pairings. He wasn’t really sure which partnership was more important right now, but one of the good things about rotating monthly was that he had had the opportunity to rehearse both scenarios with each of the people on the team. Of course, if you couldn’t stay with your assigned partner in the throes of battle then that was fine, but where possible Lance found it easier to think and to calm down when falling into this predetermined routine.

The ship, thankfully, was not affected by the EMPs’ blasts. This was due to the insulation that every single wall was thick enough to provide, but after seeing the unexpected damage downstairs, Lance wasn’t sure that anything would have surprised him at that moment. The airlock opened for them without a problem, the entire team fitting easily into its space. Before the doors closed, Lance could see a small ship hovering outside Green’s open hangar doors, dark and angular and undeniably Galran.

The ship moved through the gap, a glowing shield obviously protecting it from the EMPs’ waves. Its hull scraped against Green, knocking the immobile Lion askew, and Lance glanced at Pidge as the airlock doors slammed shut. Her face was taut with fury, glasses somewhat askew behind her visor.

Within moments, the team filtered out into the corridor. Pidge was at the control panel immediately, locking the doors as Keith typed in his own locking code in the panel on the other side of the doors. Perhaps it was just another flimsy barrier, but Lance couldn’t help his small relief as his teammate stepped back from their panels.

Exterior sounds were muffled by his helmet and his comms were still disengaged, so Lance followed the team in relative silence to the command deck – Allura would be waiting for them there, and whilst the training rooms did have spare suits with adequate survival mechanisms and functioning if subpar comms, the hangars were too close for anybody’s liking. It would have been faster than retreating to reset their equipment, but the risk was too great in their current situation. Shiro’s stride was purposeful and the team followed unanimously, moving together with a singular goal.

Allura was ready for them. As each paladin removed their helmet in the safety of the command deck, she ordered them to plug their bayards into the waiting charging stations. Pidge moved to a screen, sending signals to their disabled weapons to reboot and overcome the blocking effects of the Galras’ EMPs. Their helmets followed suit, and although the process would take several minutes, Lance sighed as his anxiety began to recede. Sure, they were under attack, but a dozen thick doors with double locks stood between them and their attackers, and as soon as their gear was working again, Team Voltron would return to the offensive without a problem. Allura, Coran, and Shiro had drawn to the side, murmuring too low for anyone to hear what they were saying, and Lance tapped the toe of his boot against the floor in an effort to stim the stress down before his hands could start to visibly shake.

“Maybe we should enable our EMP shields this time,” Keith grumbled from where he stood at the window, glaring through its reinforced glass and no doubt searching for any sign of their attackers.

Pidge hummed distractedly. “They use up a lot of power,” she reminded him without glancing up from her screen. When Keith inhaled sharply and opened his mouth to protest, she continued before he had a chance to speak. “Of course, Galra don’t often use EMPs, so we don’t usually need them.”

“It would be a good idea now though,” Hunk interjected as Shiro and the Alteans broke off their quiet conversation.

Allura’s lower lip was pinched, moving slightly as she worried it between her teeth. This anxious gesture sent a bolt of surprise through Lance, but he supposed that this situation was a little more stressful than their usual skirmishes in the Lions.

A sound like thunder rolled through the ship, and Lance spun to stare at a screen that displayed a schematic of the entire Castle. An Altean symbol had lit up on the map, indicating that there was extensive damage to the door that he and Hunk had sealed down at the cargo bay. All emergency symbols had been hammered into each person’s training over and over again, and for once Lance was glad for the drills, since he could tell what was going on without having to ask for an explanation.

The group stilled as they took in what this meant, and Lance’s eyes swept across the map, counting how many sealed doorways were between them and the enemy now.

Eleven.

It had only been fifteen minutes since that door had been sealed. Fifteen tumultuous minutes in which the Galra had somehow managed to dock at least one ship, disembark, and blow the door to smithereens.

It wouldn’t take long to reach the command deck.

“How long until the bayards are ready?” Allura asked, her voice terse and clipped.

“Five minutes for the bayards,” Pidge squeaked, fingers flying across the screen and typing in mid-air. “The helmets will take six from now for life support, and an additional two to get the comms and analytic systems up and running.”

Keith strode forwards. “We don’t have time for that!” he cried.

“We can’t afford to go into battle without functioning equipment,” Shiro shot back. Keith flinched, stopping at the edge of the long bench of monitors. “If the Galra even only take one minute per door, that still gives us three minutes to put our helmets on and leave the room to meet them before they take over the entire Castle.”

Keith’s hands were shaking, eyes fearful as they locked onto Shiro’s, and in that instant Lance could only remember seeing that look on Keith’s face once before. It hadn’t been too long ago – Keith and Shiro had returned from meeting with a faction of the Galra rebellion, and Keith had stood before the group with tears in his eyes and Shiro at his back. The revelation of his heritage had been halting, Keith’s voice strained and somewhat quavering in his terror. Sure, it had been difficult for the team to hear something like that, and some had come to terms with the issue faster than others, but the person who had seemed to find it the most difficult to accept was the half breed himself.

The Keith standing before them now looked just as uncertain, and Lance could imagine how difficult this must be for him – if they were captured by the Galra, and not killed instantly, it was likely only a short matter of time before their captors recognised the blade strapped to Keith’s belt or their quintessence peeled away his human skin to reveal the purple that apparently lurked beneath.

Whatever the Galra had in store for the humans of Voltron, it would likely be far worse for Keith.

Shiro had stepped towards the shaking paladin, grasping Keith’s hand in his own and talking once again. “Calm down,” he instructed. “Breathe slowly, Keith. If you want to fight, you have to calm down.”

Keith took a deep breath that shuddered, following Shiro’s slow counts of five. Lance found himself holding his own breathing as well, the pattern slowing him down where he hadn’t even realised he had sped up. He stopped tapping his foot at an irritated glance from Pidge, but it wasn’t really that necessary now that he was focussing on a breathing exercise.

More symbols appeared on the monitor, different from the damage indicators. Lance frowned as Hunk spoke, “They’re hacking the doors instead of blowing them up!”

“Look,” Coran breathed as the hacked symbol on the furthest door from them changed to something different, “they’ve locked themselves in with us.”

Tension palpably rippled through the team. “Why would they do that?” Lance breathed.

“Confidence?” Coran muttered. “Maybe they’re sure they can win?”

“Maybe they just don’t want to risk putting the entire ship into vacuum in case their own suits have unforeseen issues during battle,” Pidge muttered. “It’s easier to fight on foot in a pressurised environment anyway.”

The symbols were moving faster, taking less and less time per door, and Lance squirmed where he stood. He itched to pace, to tap his foot again, to just pick up his bayard, throw on his helmet, and tear their invaders down. Shiro had stopped counting, but Keith’s breathing was loud and heavy in its slowness, and Lance latched onto this rasping cycle.

“They’re only seven doors away,” Hunk whispered.

“Six,” Coran corrected as another hacked symbol appeared on the screen. A visual feed appeared on the adjacent monitor, displaying a view that Lance almost wished he hadn’t seen. It was almost easier to go into battle against an unknown force than knowing for certain that you were vastly outnumbered by an offensive group complete with droids, organic warriors clutching wicked blades, and druids whose hands were already crackling with that terrifying Galran magic. And they were six doors away.

“What was that about a minute per door?” Hunk muttered as the symbol appeared over the next door, locking behind them scarcely twenty seconds after the previous door. Panic simmered within him – what if there was another reason they were locking the doors? By doing so, not only did these invaders ensure a stable pressure and safety from vacuum, but they prevented any means of quick escape for those in the observation deck.

Before Lance could voice his new concern, Pidge piped up from where she still stood. “The bayards at least will be ready before they get here.”

“Good,” Shiro responded. “Right, everyone.”

Lance turned to face their leader, clenching and unclenching his fists. Shiro waited until the entire team was looking at him before continuing. “If the Galra made it in here, it could be an absolute disaster. There are enough of them that they could surround us and overpower us. We have a much better chance of spreading out to block the hallway so they’re forced to meet us one at a time.”

Lance frowned – they would all have to be standing so they were touching for this to work. There wouldn’t be much room to manoeuver in that situation, but as he glanced at the video feed again, Lance conceded that with what looked to be about twenty-five offenders, it was really the only way to raise the paladins’ odds of victory. He looked back just as Shiro glanced at the screen again, face pinching and scar stark against his pale skin.

“It’s Haggar,” Shiro breathed.

Allura frowned. “Shiro-”

“Coran,” Shiro interrupted, “stay here with Allura. If we fall, you two must escape. Voltron must not be obliterated.”

Allura crinkled her delicate nose. “You want us to leave?” she demanded, and Shiro sent her a look so sharp that Lance took an involuntary step back.

“Yes,” he insisted. “Go through the vents. Leave now. It’s better for you two to escape and regroup than for all of us to fall.”

“I’m not going to leave any of you,” she retorted. Coran nodded in support of her comment, folding his arms across his chest. “We do this together,” Allura insisted. “I am a far greater warrior than anybody in this room.” Her eyes were cold, daring Shiro to challenge her again.

Shiro sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine,” he growled, turning away from the two Alteans as though the very sight of them pained him. “Pidge, how are the bayards coming along?”

“Thirty-two seconds,” she responded, twisting away from her screen and fixing Shiro with an anxious stare.

“We won’t be ready,” Hunk breathed. At his comment, everybody’s eyes turned again to the schematic.

There were only two doors left, one of them being the door to the very room they were in.

Lance swung to face Shiro again, the sheer helplessness on their leader’s face fleeting but clear, and for a moment Lance glanced at Shiro’s prosthetic. If the Galra overpowered them now, Keith wasn’t the only one likely to have an especially traumatic experience.

“Paladins, gather on either side of the door,” Shiro ordered. His voice cracked, but nobody acknowledged it. “Pidge, keep getting those weapons ready. Coran, Allura, do whatever you need to.”

As they moved into position, Lance shuddered. Keith settled beside him, red armour clattering slightly as he trembled. Lance reached out, his hand closing over his comrade’s wrist in what he hoped would be interpreted as a display of solidarity.

The penultimate door flashed with the hacked symbol, before swiftly locking. Lance took a deep breath, glancing over to Pidge. Her brow was furrowed, sweat sticking her hair to her forehead and cheeks. In their sockets, the bayards began to glow their respective colours.

“Yes!” Pidge crowed, leaping over to their weapons and scooping up as many as she could hold. She scampered across the room, and Lance reached towards her, stretching for his bayard that was nestled in her arms alongside Shiro’s and Keith’s—

The door slid open with the slightest hiss of pneumatic runners, a blade immediately skidding off Lance’s outstretched vambrace and colliding with his chestplate. The blow threw him off balance, staggering away from the attacker and slamming into Keith. They almost went down, Keith barely managing to keep the two upright as Galra swept into the room.

Pidge was tackled to the floor, three burly soldiers practically flattening her, with the weapons trapped beneath their bodies. Shiro and Hunk leapt forwards, Shiro’s hand lighting up with energy and Hunk’s fists raised, only to be rushed as more attackers poured through the door. The Galras’ eyes gleamed gold in the light and snarls split their faces.

Over the sirens that continued to sound, Lance heard screaming and the buzzing hum of magic. He pushed himself off Keith, scrambling backwards as black lightning crackled through the doorway, likely from Haggar herself. The bursts of energy didn’t target the paladins, but rather rushed across the ceiling and the monitors, and Lance’s gut twisted as the room was plunged into darkness.

Keith tensed beside him. “Galra can see in the dark!”

Lance bit back a snide comment about Keith likely having the same skill, tensing as magic lit up Allura’s hands across the room. He took a step away from the door, pulling Keith with him in the hope to steer clear of any errant blast.

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” Haggar’s voice was smooth and confident, a hand crackling with quintessence reaching through the doorway and casting dim light on the figure of Hunk, a Galran soldier on each side of him with their swords pressed against the flesh of his neck. He was effectively a shield between Haggar and the rest of the room, and she stepped through the door with a rustle of cloth.

“Paladins,” she hissed, “surrender.”

The light from her magic was just enough to see those blades press harder against Hunk’s skin, a trickle of something dark slipping down beneath his collar. The power around Allura’s hands flickered out, and Lance stiffened as something cold and incredibly sharp pressed against his own neck. Panic fluttered low in his gut, and as a second blade came to rest near the first, Lance closed his eyes and tried to hold back the stinging behind his eyelids while Keith’s terrified whimper filtered through the darkness beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if there are any typos or inconsistencies, I try to catch all of them but I have a really bad habit of editing immediately after I write and sometimes little things slip through the radar.
> 
> Thanks for reading, I'm a little apprehensive because it's honestly been a while since I've written something as emotionally charged as this and I'm super new to this fandom so I appreciate it!


	2. Beneath Your skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things go even more wrong than anybody had anticipated, people are purple, and Lance doesn't know when to keep his stupid mouth shut.

They cuffed them in the dark.

Lance stayed as still as he could when his gloves were slipped off and vambraces unclipped from his forearms, the edges of the blades at his throat a far more menacing experience than any memories that he could immediately recall. Golden eyes glowed in the darkness, unsettling in a way that sent a shiver down Lance’s spine. The room rustled with cloth and the quiet rattling of metal, and he swallowed as two smooth, thick bracelets were fastened around his wrists.

Bands of purple light lit up his hands, wrapping around the cuffs in a signal of activation. This light reached between his wrists, forming a short but unbreakable link between the two. Lance shuddered at the sight, his arms forced closer together by the chain of light and what he knew were the cuffs’ magnetic fields.

Around the room, similar lights flared. Lance blinked, glancing at each of his teammates as best he could without moving his head – the swords still pressed into his throat, and any sudden movement right now was probably not a wise decision. The light from each set of cuffs was dim, barely illuminating his friends’ faces, but it was enough for Lance to register everyone’s fear.

Shiro seemed to be having the hardest time – he was rigid, hands trembling violently in their confines. His face was slack, eyes blank with terror as he stared into the distance. A pang of sympathy spread through Lance – whatever he was going through, Shiro’s panic would be so much worse right now.

A small sound of fear came from beside him, and this time Lance did move his head. A sharp stinging sliced through his neck at the movement, and he stilled again with a gasp as liquid slid from the cut. He could only hope it wasn’t too bad as his eyes met Keith’s in the gloom, and then Lance’s self-concern took a back seat.

Keith was shaking so badly that several small nicks had opened across his neck. His hands were clenched into tremoring fists, and every breath was choppy and incredibly loud in the quiet room. His face was twisted in terror, lit from beneath by the purple light from his cuffs. Lance frowned at his friend, but before he could think of anything that would possibly calm Keith down, Haggar’s voice carried across the room.

“Droids,” she commanded, “lights.”

Scattered around the room, red lights on the droids’ suits lit up, increasing in brightness and intensity until the entire space was strobed with their beams. Lance blinked in the new light, Keith seeming to recoil and squinting at this new visual stimulation, and Lance was immediately reminded of their lessons on Galran weaknesses. Their captors didn’t seem to share the same discomfort though, and as Lance glanced at Keith’s two guards, he realised that they had lidded their eyes in preparation and now peered through thick lashes as their vision adjusted. He’d have to tell Keith about that later – the poor guy had been exhibiting abnormal sensitivity to light and sound since his encounter with Mamora, but the team had skimmed around the topic, uncertain of how to address it without upsetting their friend. At night, his eyes often developed a golden sheen to them, and everybody had noticed that sometimes his ears were quite a bit larger than usual. Keith obviously tried to hide it as much as possible, and the team had quietly assembled one morning before Keith arose and agreed to allow him to come to terms with it himself before they discussed it with him.

As they were dragged across the room and forced to their knees, Lance wryly thought that they probably didn’t have that luxury anymore.

The team was kneeling in a circle, each member securely cuffed and with a Galra at either shoulder. The blades still rested at their throats, and Lance’s gut twisted as Haggar stepped into the middle of the circle. She threw back her hood and slowly spun, meeting each captive’s eyes unflinchingly. Lance shuddered when she looked at him, her stare absolutely pitiless.

“Why haven’t you killed us?” It was Allura’s voice that sounded from his left, and Lance could only marvel at how steady the sound was.

Haggar shifted, a sneer twisting her face. “That would be too easy,” she hissed, and her words sent ice through Lance’s veins. “These paladins will only create martyrs if they die – it is much better for us if your precious alliance falls first.”

From her position, the princess actually scoffed. “You underestimate us,” she announced, voice confident and clear as a bell.

Haggar’s expression soured, and she stepped closer to Allura. “Perhaps it is _you_ who is underestimating _me,_ ” she growled, unsheathing a dagger from her hip. Haggar swung forwards and the paladins’ cries sounded through the room, but instead of stabbing the princess, Haggar smote her across the jaw with the hilt of the weapon, connecting with an audible crunch.

Allura gave a muffled shriek, and although Lance couldn’t see her properly from his position, he could take in enough to recognise the blood that dripped from her chin. Something bubbled in his chest at the sight, and he muttered a string of curses that slipped from one language to another mid-phrase. Haggar didn’t even glance at him at this vocalisation, stepping back and nodding in Allura’s direction with a satisfied grin. “How about you just stay quiet for now,” she suggested before turning away completely and moving across the circle.

She stopped in front of Keith, her back to Lance. The terror on Keith’s face was clear in the washed-out red light, and he pressed back against his guards, shrinking away as Haggar leaned down and grasped his chin in a bare hand. Tiny crackles of power swept across her fingers, and Keith gasped in what was probably pain as a dark colour began to bleed across his chin like dye through water. The red light made it difficult to discern, but Lance would have bet any money he had that the colour was purple.

Haggar straightened up, breaking contact with Keith. The patch on his chin paused in its movement before beginning to recede, overtaken by the pale skin tone that Lance was far more used to seeing on his friend. “H-how did you know…” Keith spluttered.

Haggar held up her hand, fingers cracking with quintessence. “Your aura reacted to this the instant I stepped into the room,” she said as casually as discussing the weather, “and I would have to be blind not to recognise that Mamoran blade sheathed at your back.”

Keith’s eyes went wide, and Lance twisted his wrists in his restraints. He had never really been that religious, but right now he prayed to whomever or whatever was listening that he could slip out of these cuffs and stop whatever was about to happen.

One of the other druids stepped forwards, claws delicately grasping something that glinted in the light. Before Lance could see what it was, the druid turned towards Keith.

Keith, whose face had just slackened in absolute terror, his trembling intensifying so that the rattling of his armour and cuffs was audible to every person in the room.

Haggar stepped closer to him again, and Lance could hear the glee in her tone as she spoke. “Now, you’ve encountered quintessence before, but probably not in such a personalised form.” Keith visibly shuddered as she continued. “Mutts such as yourself are not unheard of, my child, so we have perfected a way to… well, to give you the body that you should have had from the start.”

“No!” Shiro’s cry was loud from where he knelt beside Lance, and Haggar and her assistant turned to face him.

Haggar smirked. “Oh, 117-9875, don’t you worry now – you have your own surprise in store.” The number rolled seamlessly from her mouth with the rest of the sentence, and Lance instantly knew to what she must be referring.

Shiro’s breath was sharp, and Lance bit back a gasp of his own as he recognised the item in the druid’s hands. It was the biggest needle he had ever seen, the glass chamber filled with what looked like liquid fire. The very thought of that being injected into anybody sent a wave of nausea through Lance, and as Haggar took the syringe into her own hands she turned back to Keith. The poor guy looked like he was going to be sick, shaking his head and leaning as far backwards as he could. “Please,” he rasped, “don’t.”

At a gesture from Haggar, the Galra restraining Keith sheathed their blades and began to strip him of his armour. He bucked in their grasp, crying out in fear. “Oh please don’t, _please_ stop, please pleasepleaseplease—”

One of the guards slapped him across the face with his own greave, and Keith fell silent with a sob. The raw emotion on what was usually a reserved face had Lance momentarily taken aback, but given the situation, he supposed that even Keith would lose composure. It only took moments for the Galran soldiers to finish relieving him of his protective layer, leaving Keith kneeling in his skin-tight flightsuit.

The tension in the room was palpable, and a quiet whisper came from Hunk’s kneeling form. “Please, don’t do this.”

Haggar ignored him, this time crouching in front of Keith and caressing his cheek in a gesture that would have been tender if not for the energy that crackled in her palm and the darkness that tendrilled across his skin in the wake of her touch. Keith jolted, eyes wide with panic. Haggar’s thumb brushed his right eye and Keith _shrieked_ , jerking out of her grasp with a sound so pained that Lance felt his gut clench.

The eye that she had touched was larger, more rounded with edges that tapered gracefully against his dark skin, and it glowed like molten gold.

Haggar’s hand reached for him again, lingering at the collar of Keith’s suit. His whimper cut through the air at the sound of the zipper sliding along its teeth, and as Haggar leaned closer Lance realised that she was peeling the thick suit off his shoulders, exposing Keith’s pale upper arms. Everywhere she touched, darkness bloomed.

“Stay still,” she ordered, and Keith’s guards were joined by one of the Galra who stood around the room. The three guards combined their efforts, latching onto Keith and holding him in place. The syringe glinted in the light, and Lance’s view was blocked as Haggar leaned in.

The room fell silent, and Lance realised that he was holding his breath. It was only a matter of ticks, and then Keith screamed. The sound was so terrified and filled with pain that despite the blades at his throat, Lance was struggling to lean forwards, wanting to do anything to help his friend. Their edges cut into his skin again, a new set of hands telling him that a third soldier had stepped forwards to help restrain him.

Haggar stepped back, and as she followed her assistant out of the circle with a manic grin Lance’s heart stuttered.

Keith’s bicep had turned dark, and although his golden eye was growing smaller and less yellow, it still glowed brightly with his distress. “Shiro?” he rasped, looking across the circle as tears traced tracks down his cheeks.

Shiro’s command was firm. “Just keep breathing,” he ordered. “Keith, you have to focus.”

Keith nodded as his guards stepped away, and at their lack of support he whimpered as his body slid to the ground. Shiro kept talking, his voice steady and smooth despite the fear that Lance knew must be threatening to overwhelm him. He was counting again, Keith clearly trying to match his breathing to the numbers from where he lay and trembled.

Before they could complete half a dozen breaths, Keith tensed with a sudden yelp. He curled in on himself, tremors racking his gangling frame as small sounds of pain morphed into a drawn-out keening.

Through the team’s cries of Keith’s name, Lance could only watch in horror as the convulsions grew worse. He couldn’t see much of his comrade’s skin, but what was visible was as dark as their captors’. Keith retched, a horrible staccato sound that curled his entire body with the motion. He didn’t actually throw anything up, but dry-heaved a couple more times before arching his back with a terrific scream.

Clawed hands scrabbled at his head, Keith’s cries becoming more infrequent as he choked and spluttered in agonised noises that Lance hated. His eyes were no different from any other Galra’s in the room, and large furry ears poked through his hair and reached higher than the crown of his head. Tears streamed down his face, glinting red in the room’s stark light.

As suddenly as they had begun, his cries quieted to sobs, and Keith’s body slumped against the floor. His hands were still clasped around his head, twitching in their cuffs. Lance’s eyes burned at the sight, a tear slipping down his own cheek.

Beside him, Shiro wept.

“Keith?” Coran called. “Paladin Keith, are you alright?”

“What a stupid question!” Lance snapped, irritation bubbling within him.

“I am checking to see if the process has completed,” Coran countered, and Lance glowered at his glare. “Do not forget, I’ve seen this before.”

“Well,” Keith choked between sobs, “m-my insides a-aren’t m-melting anymore.” His voice was warped with pain, but it was still undeniably _Keith’s_ , and Lance’s throat tightened at the sound.

During Keith’s transformation, Haggar had been off to the side, conferring with her druids. Now she re-entered the circle, kneeling once again before Keith. “It’s a wonder that you’re still conscious,” she observed.

Keith moaned. “’M gettin’ there,” he mumbled, the words slurring with pain. Even his crying was quieting now, and as Haggar straightened up and stepped away from his prone form, Lance could only watch as Keith’s eyes slipped closed and his body went limp.

She moved towards Shiro this time, standing before him. Lance shrank away from her proximity, turning his head as best he could to look at their leader kneeling beside him. Shiro’s face was wet with tears, shoulders hiccupping with sobs.

“Shiro,” Haggar sighed, and Lance bristled at the false tenderness in her words. “Poor, poor Shirogane. You always did care too much, didn’t you?”

If he hadn’t been restrained with hands and swords, Lance would have lunged for her. As it was, he hissed before spitting through clenched teeth “Shut _up_ , you old hag!”

He didn’t realise that Haggar had struck him until he was sagging in the guards’ grasps, the world ringing in his ears and blood harsh on his tongue. She grasped the collar of his suit. “You speak again, and I’ll cut that stupid tongue of yours out of your stupid head.”

After a handful of ticks she released him, and Lance knew that if the soldiers let him go now, he would be unable to keep kneeling. Their blades had nicked his throat again – there was fresh stinging, and more blood slid down his neck.

Keith lay across the circle, silent and still, and Lance very much wanted to wake up from whatever twisted nightmare this was. Haggar must have given some sign or signal, because while the ringing in Lance’s ears began to diminish, Galran soldiers tugged at his armour.

Still reeling from the blow, Lance couldn’t find the coherence to struggle until they had removed all but his breastplate. He squirmed in their grasp, but at this point he could recognise that any resistance was just for show and would have no effect whatsoever. With a few rough tugs, the breastplate was dragged from his body as well, and Lance was deposited more firmly on his knees again. The pieces of his armour had been placed behind him, and he wondered what the hell was going on. He’d take any blessing he could get right now, and silently thanked the cosmos that their team wasn’t going to be wiped out. The stripping of the armour was something strange though, Lance twisting in his cuffs anxiously. They weren’t all half breeds, right? Why were Haggar’s druids already unzipping Pidge and Hunk’s flightsuits?

Lance froze, gaze redirecting to a druid that had settled before him. One clawed hand cradled another massive syringe, its chamber filled with dark sludge. The other hand grasped the zipper of his suit, and Lance wriggled as much as he could as the shoulders of the garment were peeled off him, exposing the layer of pyjamas that he still wore underneath.

The druid sighed, the first indication of independent thought that Lance had seen from this particular group.

“What?” he grumbled in response, words thick on his swollen tongue. “If you don’t like my space jammies, then you shouldn’t have attacked until the morning.” It was the closest he could get to joking right now, blood still seeping between his teeth as he eyed the syringe that was obviously intended for him.

He could have sworn that for a tick there, the Galran’s mouth quirked in amusement.

Before Lance could dwell on this display of emotion, the druid grasped the wide collar of his loose, comfortable sleepwear, edging it over his shoulder. The fabric was one of those soft, stretchy ones that Lance favoured for his nightwear, and easily stretched to expose his upper arm.

At this, the druid paused, sitting back with one hand still holding Lance’s clothing out of the way. Lance glanced around, frowning as he realised that while all prepped, nobody had actually been injected yet.

“Haggar,” Allura slurred, her speech impeded by whatever damage had been done to her jaw, “please. You have already forced one paladin – isn’t that enough?”

In an instant, Lance knew that Allura had seen this before.

Haggar growled in response, the noise so unnerving that Lance shuddered. “Your alliances will fail,” she announced, brandishing her own syringe full of darkness. “When the paladins of Voltron are revealed to be a team of Galra, you will never succeed in creating another treaty, and those already in place will crumble.”

“But-” Allura’s response was cut off, and Lance realised that her captors had likely gagged her. A muffled sound from Coran indicated that he was in a similar situation – Haggar’s expression now displayed clear irritation whenever somebody interrupted.

Her words hung heavy between them, and Lance tensed as Pidge moaned in terror. “But we’re humans!” she insisted, flinching when Haggar’s head swung to face her. “Y-you could turn Keith into a Galra because of his heritage, b-but w-we don’t have Galran blood.”

The woman’s laugh was merciless, reminding Lance of something that he had heard in a horror flick back on Earth. Back then, he could just pull the blankets tighter around his shoulders and tell himself that it was just a movie. Here, in real life on a ship floating in the vacuum of space with Haggar beginning to speak again, there was no such thing as a pause button. “Do you really think it’s impossible? The Altean and Galran empires have been travelling through space for over ten thousand years. Things impossible to you humans are simulated experiments we use to teach our children laboratory safety. This Castle may be one of the most technologically-advanced ships you have ever encountered, but keep in mind that it is as old as Zarkon himself.”

Her little speech seemingly over, Haggar again turned her attention to Shiro. “Now,” she spat, “I wonder how loudly you’ll scream. How I’ve missed that sound.” The glass in her hand glinted, but Lance was distracted from watching further as something sharp brushed his own bicep.

“Hey!” he shouted, jerking away and dimly aware of the panicked vocalisations of his fellow paladins. “Don’t put that thing near me!”

It was a useless demand, but somehow made Lance feel a little bit more in control of his emotions – any resistance, no matter how futile, was better than none. The druid grasped his arm firmly, the tip of the needle once again finding his skin.

“H-hey…” Lance began, but broke off with a wince as the metal slid into his arm with a stinging pinch. He stared at the spot, unable to drag his eyes away as the plunger was depressed, the glass tube emptying in one clean motion as cold discomfort spread beneath his skin.

The druid removed the needle and even had the nerve to pull Lance’s pyjama top and flightsuit back into place and tug the zipper up to beneath his chin.

The discomfort began to prickle, sending stinging waves in both directions up and down Lance’s arm. He felt heavy, and tried to curl his fingers. They remained motionless in his lap, his arm a dead weight that hurt more and more with every heartbeat.

Darkness spread across his skin.

Lance’s vision began to blur, his chest tightening as he gasped for air, and somewhere not too far away Pidge screamed. Some part of Lance’s brain rationalised that he would be doing that soon as well, and Pidge was smaller, so she’d naturally be the one to succumb first if they were all injected at a similar moment. His mind babbled under the stress, supplying all sorts of helpful thoughts as his body went limp with the spreading numbness, his guards and the druid moving away from him now that the job was done. Thoughts such as Keith’s convulsing, retching body, and of how quickly their alliances would disintegrate once the galaxy learned of their predicament. Thoughts weren’t ideal, but they were better than the raw panic that battered against his ribs and threatened to shut his brain down.

Before he could think of anything else, pain slammed into Lance’s body. It seemed to originate from no particular spot, instead pulsing through him as though his own blood was acid. His jaw ached and he supposed that that meant that he was screaming, but Lance couldn’t hear anything through the pain that split the sides of his head. He was thrashing, he could tell that much – thrashing against the hard metal ground, straining against the cuffs as his vision swam and blurred and nothing could be focussed on anymore.

There was nothing but the pain now, all-encompassing. Lance was dimly aware of his body moving, of retching and crying and of uncontrollable convulsions. He was melting from the inside, and all he wanted right now was for this to _stop._ He didn’t care how, it just needed to go away, _please_ just make it go away…

As the pain ebbed like a receding tide, Lance lay on his side, grasping his head and wheezing through tears. The ringing silence was also gone, replaced by pained noises around him and what was definitely Allura’s muffled voice. He couldn’t comprehend what she was saying, but then again he didn’t really need somebody to tell him that things had just gone terribly wrong. Whatever terribly wrong meant, anyway. Lance wracked his tired brain, but couldn’t remember what he was doing on the floor.

The red lights were so pretty, and he sighed, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against the deliciously cold surface that he was laying on. Everything in his head was fuzzy, like television static or pins and needles or the whoosh of a breeze through fallen leaves in Autumn, and he didn’t know what was happening, but this darkness was so nice that it was easier to just follow it, to sink into sleep…

He’d deal with whatever was going on in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because why limit body horror angst to just one character?
> 
> The physical trauma will likely tone down for a bit, but emotional angst is always so much more fun anyway.


	3. Bright-Eyed and Bushy-Tailed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which reflections are frightening and food always makes things better.

Before Lance even opened his eyes, he knew that something was wrong.

Typically, he woke to darkness – going to bed without his sleeping mask was simply not an option, since the dimmed lights of the Castle were still enough to keep him awake. He had once spoken with Coran about turning the lights off properly, but the systems were set up so that although they could dim, the lights were impossible to turn off entirely without shutting off the entire ship’s power. Something to do with Altean emergency protocols. Lance needed total darkness to sleep peacefully through the night, and so a mask had become a necessity.

The world was bright beyond his closed eyelids, and through his addled state he realised that this wasn’t normal at all.

Still not fully awake, Lance opened his eyes with a groan.

The light was blinding, and he gave a cry, clapping his hands over his eyes in an attempt to block it out. He rolled to his feet, stumbling blindly across the room until his hand hit a control panel recessed into the wall. He squinted through his fingers, cursing at the panel’s bright touchscreen. The words and numbers on the screen were lit by their white background with such intensity that they blurred together, and Lance tapped the little icon of a crescent moon in the corner of the screen to change the display to night vision. The screen turned black, the writing now a soft white that was much easier to read, and he sighed as he was finally able to locate the lighting controls and turn the dial down as far as it could go.

Leaning against the wall and closing his stinging eyes, Lance felt like everything had somehow shifted out of place. The lights, dimmed as low as possible, were still far brighter than he would have liked. Sounds filtered through the Castle, hammering reverberations rolling along the floor and walls and into Lance’s bones.

He ached.

Staggering back in the direction of his bed, Lance collapsed back onto the sheets without opening his eyes again. Why had he gone to sleep without his mask on? Why hadn’t he turned down the lights? And why did he feel as terrible as he had that one time when Miguel Alverez had beaten the pulp out of him in fourth grade?

Something on his wrist clicked against the bedframe, and Lance opened his eyes with a frown. What…?

As he stared at his purple, furry hand, Lance’s mind couldn’t seem to catch up. He didn’t… He wasn’t…

Everything rushed back to him in a heartbeat and Lance threw himself off the bed, swearing as he tripped over his own feet on the way to the bathroom. Righting himself on the doorframe, he stumbled to the mirror, gripping the basin at the sight of his reflection.

He was purple. Fine fur covered his face and travelled down his throat, disappearing beneath the collar of his suit and the small adhesive bandages that somebody had used to dress the cuts caused by the Galras’ swords. His eyes were larger and more rounded, a liquid gold that glinted in the low light and stood out magnificently against the dark fur. His hair was still the same old brown, but from between his bangs jutted two large, fluffy ears attached to the side of his head. They reached from eye level to slightly above the crown of his head, and Lance gingerly reached up to touch one.

The touch sent an involuntary shiver down his body, and Lance gasped as his fur stood on end. His reflection was suddenly twice as fluffy, reminding him of how birds puffed out their feathers when it was raining. Touching his ears felt nice, and Lance ran a finger over one of them, forcing himself to stay still as the ear flicked and his body tried to shudder in delight.

His hands caught his attention again, and Lance held them out in front of himself. There wasn’t much of a change there – the skin of his palms was fur-free and lilac, the backs of his hands and his wrists fuzzy and darker. His nails hadn’t changed at all, and he frowned at the lack of claws. Keith had grown claws instantly, so why hadn’t Lance?

The plastic cuffs around his wrists clacked as they touched, the lack of lights along their surface indicating that they had run out of power. Lance pressed his thumbnails into the grooves of their clasps, sighing as each cuff unclipped without a problem. He laid them on the edge of the sink, gaze drawn again to the neckline of the flightsuit that he still wore.

He reached for the zipper before pausing, meeting his own eyes in the mirror. It wasn’t _him_ there! His eyes were so different, pupil-less and round with delicately tapered edges, that he couldn’t see anything of his former self in them. Lance knew that he was probably in shock – he hadn’t freaked out yet, but that was likely just around the corner. When his cousin had died, back when he was twelve, Lance had felt nothing at first – it had taken his brain a little while to accept what was going on, and that was when the grief had hit him. Lance had noticed throughout the years that he was like this with anything that caused other people to shut down, that when in shock he took a while longer than those around him, but eventually, the emotions would still hit.

His hands were already beginning to tremble.

Lance swore, worrying his lip between teeth that were still smooth and as human as his hair or fingernails. The motion hurt, and he was reminded of being hit in the mouth, but pushed the thought away before he could begin to dwell on the events of the previous evening. There was no point in delaying things – just get it over with, like pulling off a band-aid or diving into a cold swimming pool.

Lance drew the zipper all the way down to his hips, swearing again when he realised that he was still wearing his pyjamas. He kicked off the suit in frustration, tearing his shirt over his head and standing there in nothing but star-spangled blue sleep pants.

The view didn’t surprise him, but Lance still gasped reflexively as he took in the layer of dark purple fur that completely covered his skin. The person in the mirror looked nothing like him, and Lance felt his chest tighten as his heartbeat fluttered against his ribcage.

Drawing in a handful of breaths a bit faster than necessary, he distracted himself by the tight feeling in the back of his pants. Dipping a hand beneath the waistband, his fingers met something soft that wasn’t his own backside, and his body shuddered like when he had touched his ears. Tugging whatever it was out into the open, Lance twisted in the mirror, stiffening at the sight of a slender, fluffy tail grasped between his fingers.

His breathing hitched, and Lance backed up to lean against the wall. The ears and eyes and fur were one thing, but this was too much. As his breaths grew shorter and more frenzied, Lance slid to the floor, closing his eyes and sucking in as much air as he could with every shallow breath. He leaned his head back against the wall, concentrating on counting up to five and then back down to one. His eyes stung, warm tears spreading through his fur, and Lance hiccupped, losing count in his head. He started again, this time speaking the numbers aloud and focussing on nothing else.

He didn’t know how long he sat on the bathroom floor, but by the time his breathing had slowed and his head had cleared, Lance’s butt was numb. He used the wall to lever himself to his feet with a groan, glaring at the tracks that the tears had made in his fur. Scrubbing a hand over his face, Lance inwardly berated himself. He was such an idiot, to have a panic attack over something like this! Everybody would be going through the same thing! There was nothing he could do right now, so he just had to suck it up and move on. At least he wasn’t the only one who had turned Galra – the thought of being the sole person to change species was incredibly lonely, and Lance realised that Keith’s behaviour in the weeks since revealing his heritage made a bit more sense now.

Waking up as something new _sucked._

The image of Keith worrying over himself in the mirror every morning since finding out he was half Galra, of him searching in terror for purple on his skin or yellow in his eyes, spurred Lance into action. Glancing in the mirror and satisfied that he had rubbed the worst of the tear-tracks from his fur, he left the bathroom and headed for his wardrobe. A spare flightsuit was in there, and Lance reached for it before realising that something was missing from its storage rack.

His armour was nowhere to be seen, and Lance fought down his concern over its absence. Irrational thoughts sprang up – what if Allura or Coran thought that since he was Galran, he could no longer be a paladin?

Squashing that thought down, Lance instead donned his casual jeans, shirt, and customary jacket. The clothing rubbed against his fur uncomfortably, and he sat on the edge of the bed, squirming as he tugged the waistband of his jeans so that it allowed his tail to slip out into the open. His tail wasn’t overly long – when straight it was probably down to his ankles, but it naturally curved somewhat, ending more mid-calf. Like the rest of him, it was coated in a fine layer of fur, with a longer tuft tipping the end.

Of course, now his jeans were super uncomfortable with the back of the waistband held so low. His tail was obviously an extension of his spine, and Lance grumbled, tucking it back into his pants and sliding it down one leg. He’d have to ask Coran what to do about this, since the current solution was incredibly uncomfortable for such a sensitive appendage. Lance didn’t recall ever seeing a Galra with a tail, and wondered how they hid theirs.

His mood souring as his stomach cramped with hunger, Lance tugged on his boots and pulled open his bedroom door.

The lights in the hallway were dim, which he could only be thankful for. As he walked down the hallway Lance was reminded of his thoughts about Keith, and hesitated outside Keith’s door.

In the end, Lance hadn’t seen everyone else transform. What if the injections had failed? What if he and Keith were the only ones? He didn’t want to go to the kitchen only to find his still-human teammates sitting around the table, staring at him with pity and fear.

Lance knocked. “Keith, buddy, you in there?”

After several ticks of silence, he tried again. “Hey, Mullet-head, I’m gunna go get some space goo. You coming?”

Just as he thought he was going to get no answer, the speaker in the control panel crackled to life. “Piss off, Lance.”

Lance frowned, resting his knuckles against the doorframe. “C’mon, you must be starving.”

Keith made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a sob. “I said piss off. I’m not coming out right now.”

Lance hummed, trying to keep his tone light. If Keith’s behaviour in the days after revealing his Galran heritage was anything to go by, he would come out when he was ready. Any pushing beforehand was futile. “Alright then, I’ll leave some food outside your door on my way back through.”

When no sounds came from within, Lance sighed and continued his journey to the kitchen. It was longer than he remembered, though that was likely due to the way his feet dragged as he neared his destination.

The door to the kitchen was open, murmured voices spilling into the hallway along with the quiet clinking of cookware or cutlery. Lance hung back from the doorway, licking his lips in anticipation and clenching his trembling hands. There was the sound of the oven door closing, and his stomach growled. Lance flinched at the noise, feeling his ears drop back against his head in anxiety – if the sensitivity of his own hearing was anything to go by, any Galra in the kitchen would have been able to hear that.

The voices in the room stopped, Lance taking an involuntary step back as the doorway was filled with purple.

“Lance!” the Galra exclaimed, fuzzy brow crinkling and ears drooping in concern. “You okay?”

Lance nodded, staring at what was undeniably a Galran Hunk. He took a shaky breath, noting the way his own hands trembled and hating himself for it. “Hey,” he responded lamely. Hunk stood in silence for a tick, tilting his head with a frown, and Lance remembered his question. “Um, I’m fine I guess, just hungry.”

“Did you just wake up?”

Lance nodded, willing his heart to return to its normal pace. This was _Hunk_ , not some Galran soldier brandishing a sword! “Yeah, thought I might come and get some space goo.”

Hunk’s smile was still the same as always, just a bit more purple, and Lance realised with a start that the interior of his friend’s mouth was so purple that it was almost black. “No goo today,” Hunk announced, breaking Lance out of his thoughts. “Allura landed us on an allied planet, and they’re repairing the ship. They gave us proper food as well, so we’ve got fruits and veggies and even some meat and I’ve just put what looks like blue potato wedges in the oven.”

For the first time since waking up, Lance felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “Thank Quiznak,” he responded, following Hunk into the kitchen.

The tiniest Galra Lance had ever seen was sitting at the table, chin resting on her folded arms and brows heavy in a glower. “Hey, Lance.” Her ears had dropped back, and were pinned against her skull in a dejected manner.

“Morning.” He declined to comment on her appearance – a grumpy Pidge was scary at the best of times, but right after waking up as an entirely different species, he wasn’t sure how close she might be to ripping somebody’s head off.

Pidge, however, seemed to be in a talkative mood. “You freak out?” she asked, large golden eyes fixed on the surface of the table from behind her glasses.

Lance shrugged, taking a seat next to her so that he could face Hunk as he worked with cups and some sort of powder. He considered playing things down, but really, if he couldn’t be honest with Hunk and Pidge then who _could_ he talk to openly? “Yeah,” he admitted, “it wasn’t my worst but it wasn’t exactly my best reaction, y’know?”

Hunk shrugged from where he stood at the bench. “I screamed my lungs out,” he confessed. “The walls are so thick that nobody heard me, but when I finally came out Allura was waiting in the kitchen for whoever woke up first.”

Pidge grumbled something incoherent, curling in on herself, and Lance automatically reached out and began to rub his hand in slow circles between her shoulders. As he did so he took the time to actually look at Hunk, noting that he too had adhesive patches on his neck. Hunk was far shaggier than Lance, his fur thicker and darker, and his ears had long tufts where Lance’s were more uniform. “Where’s Allura now?” Lance asked.

“Downstairs,” Hunk responded, moving towards the table with three steaming mugs on a floating tray. “She’s overseeing the repairs, and I don’t think any of us should go down there because she said the locals didn’t know about what happened to us yet. I haven’t seen Coran, though.”

As Hunk placed a mug in front of each of them, Pidge lifted her head. “What is it?”

Hunk shrugged. “Allura was drinking some when I came in here – she said that it’s sweet and that before the war, the locals of this planet used to grow it to send across the universe to interstellar markets.”

Lance curled his free hand around the mug in front of him, blowing on the surface of the frothy white liquid within. “Have we got one of those things that steams milk?”

Hunk shook his head, settling in a chair opposite the two. “Nah, the powder foams as you stir it in. You just mix it with hot water and it thickens and does this.”

Lance took a tentative sip, and warmth bloomed through him. The drink had the soft sweetness of roses, and he took a long draught before setting down his mug with a contented sigh. “I didn’t know how much I missed Turkish Delights until now.”

Next to him, Pidge gave a sigh of her own. “I miss Earth food in general,” she murmured.

Lance paused in his one-handed massage to give her shoulder a squeeze. “I’m sure there are things you’d rather not have ever again though,” he teased. “I think I recall you talking about peas once?”

He cackled at her glower. “You’d have a problem with peas as well if your brother had stuffed so many up his nose as a kid that he needed to go to the hospital to have them removed! He then brought them home so he could take them to school for show and tell! I think anyone would be traumatised after that.”

Hunk snorted into his mug, and Lance grinned before taking another sip of his own drink. The conversation lapsed into silence as each of them focussed on their respective mugs, and Lance toyed with a question that he’d had since his bathroom inspection.

Once he had finished his drink, he decided to just go for it. Neither of the others had any visible tails, but Lance was getting really uncomfortable with his shoved down one leg of his pants – it had been awkward sitting down whilst trying not to squash the appendage, and the angle really wasn’t ideal. He cleared his throat, waiting until both of his friends were looking at him before speaking. “So, um, do you guys have tails as well or am I just a freak of nature?”

“You’ve always been a freak of nature,” Pidge retorted, and Lance lightly shoved her shoulder in response. Her ears had twitched up from their position against her head, and he felt lighter at this indication that Pidge had been distracted from her brooding. If there was one thing he could actually do for the team, it was try to cheer them up.

Hunk shrugged, ears flicking and getting up as the timer on the oven started to beep. “I have one,” he confessed as he bent over to peer through the glass. Lance noticed that he could see it through the fabric of Hunk’s pants, straining against the cloth of one leg down to the knee. Since the pants were the same loose, comfortable ones that he usually wore, Lance realised that Hunk’s tail was probably quite a bit fluffier or thicker than his own.

Pidge simply laid her head back in her arms, nodding a few times. “Makes pants annoying,” she grouched.

Lance sighed. “I’ve never seen Galra with tails, so maybe they hide them?”

“I’ll ask Coran later,” Hunk said, slipping his hands into an oven mitt. “There was no way I was gunna mention it to Allura – if she wanted to have a look I probably would have died then and there.” His eyes twinkled like the sun as he glanced at Lance. “Maybe _you_ can ask her though.”

Lance felt heat sweep through him, and wondered if he could actually blush anymore. “Nah, wouldn’t want to overwhelm her with my body in all its sheer beauty.” Weak, but then again, could anyone really blame him if his jokes were a bit flat in the current situation?

Pidge snorted without looking up. “Whatever, Fluffball.”

Turning back towards the table, Hunk set down a tray filed with dark blue strips that vaguely resembled potato wedges. “They seem ready,” he said, settling back into his seat.

Lance grabbed one from the tray, silently thanking the cosmos that space food often cooked far faster than human food. “What was that, five minutes?”

Hunk nodded. “If we took cooking technology like this back to Earth we’d be rich.” He had a faraway expression, and Lance cleared his throat before Hunk could get caught up in memories that potentially led to homesickness.

“So,” he announced, flourishing his chip through the air with as much bravado as he could muster, “time to test the taste!” Popping the food in his mouth, Lance yelped, spitting it straight back into his hands. His entire mouth burned, the pain of his injuries blending with the pain of eating something far too hot.

Hunk roared with laughter, dark mouth wide and ears dropping back in his mirth. Pidge also chuckled, unfurling her arms and elbowing Lance in the ribs. “You gotta wait for it to cool down, you idiot,” she said, mouth curving into a smile.

Lance made a show of spluttering, something warm curling in his chest as his friends continued to laugh. The burned mouth was worth it if he could help them in any way.

By the time he had finished his theatrics, the other two were each nibbling on chips of their own. Lance blew on his a few times for good measure before bringing it again to his lips, tentatively biting off the end.

The texture was much the same as wedges back on Earth, dense and soft in a way that sent a pang of homesickness through Lance’s chest. The taste was something new though, a little bland but definitely carrying the tang of mild spice. Well, maybe the spice was more than mild, but with the current condition of his mouth that was all Lance’s tastebuds could register. He reached for another one instantly, careful to blow on it before biting the wedge in half.

Pidge made an appreciative sound, and as the food cooled, they all ate a little faster. Lance busied his mind with the simple act of eating, wondering about the food and what it had looked like as a plant and if it was a plant at all or if the local aliens had artificially created it, and if it came in different flavours, or if it was as popular as wedges back at home…

The dense food was far more filling than he had anticipated, and by the time they had finished eating, the large tray was still over a third full. The sight of the extra food brought the rest of the team to mind, and Lance stretched his arms above his head, groaning as his aching joints smarted. “Has anyone seen Shiro?”

Hunk shrugged, licking the residue of food from his fingers. “Shiro came by soon after Allura left,” he said. “Grabbed some goo but barely talked – he seemed really down and said he was gunna go work the knots out of his shoulders in the training rooms.”

Lance lingered on the thought of their leader. Sure, the rest of them weren’t exactly on friendly terms with the Galra, but for Shiro they had kidnapped him, tortured him, and dominated his routine with random anxieties brought on by what the others assumed was PTSD. The entire team was aware of Shiro’s frequent hallway wanderings in the early hours of the morning, and their Lions had expressed that he was troubled by nightmares. Nobody directly addressed the issue with him, but they all aimed to be there where they could, and even took turns after relapses to keep the poor guy company whilst trying not to let Shiro realise what they were doing.

To wake up as the thing he hated the most would have had a disastrous impact on his psyche.

Lance had half a mind to go and take some food to him, but a Shiro hell-bent on training until his emotions disappeared was not a Shiro to mess with. It would probably be better to leave something for him at the doors of the training room or at his bedroom, so he could still feel supported without being interrupted. Still, the thought of running into Shiro right now and being pressed into training with him was not something that Lance’s aching body was currently ready for, and he quailed at the thought.

Maybe they could just invite Shiro to eat with them later.

Hunk stood, procuring two plates from the cabinet and transferring half of the remaining wedges onto each. “I’ll put these in the fridge for the others,” he said, moving towards the miniature cryo pod that he had managed to build as a substitute refrigerator.

“Wait,” Lance said, standing up as well. “Make up one of those drinks and I’ll take some to Keith.”

Hunk frowned. “He might not be awake yet.”

“I knocked on his door before, he was awake but wouldn’t come out…” Lance’s brain felt like it was frozen with realisation, ice seeping down his spine. “Quiznak, he passed out before we were injected,” he breathed. He had to get to Keith, right now.

“So?” Hunk asked as Pidge gasped in realisation.

Lance was already heading for the door. “So, as far as he knows he’s the only Galra on the team. What do you think that’ll do to him?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist the chapter title, sorry for that horrendous pun.


	4. Sometimes You Just Need to Let it Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We had a bonding moment! I cradled you in my arms!"
> 
> In which there is much bonding and even more cradling.

Lance wasn’t sure if the others were following him or not, but that wasn’t the most important issue right now. The real problem was how much of an _idiot_ he had been. As he sprinted towards their living quarters, he inwardly berated himself – why was he such a fool? He should have insisted, should have not left until Keith opened the door. How could he have forgotten that Keith didn’t know about the rest of them?! The poor guy must be feeling terrible right now, and Lance knew that if he were in that position, it wouldn’t take much time to convince himself that he no longer belonged, that Voltron didn’t need him…

Reaching Keith’s door, Lance practically slammed himself against it. “Open the door!” he shouted, hammering his fists against it. He didn’t know how much sound made it through the thick barrier, but with Keith’s enhanced hearing, Lance was certain that his arrival wouldn’t go unnoticed. After all, he’d noticed the knocking before.

 There was no response from within, and Lance struck a harsh tattoo on the metal surface before kicking it for good measure. “Keith, please, you gotta let me in! You’re not the only one who’s Galra!”

The speaker switched on with the brief fuzz of static. “I told you to go away, Lance.”

Undeterred, Lance kicked the door again. “You’re not the only one,” he repeated.

When Keith spoke, his tone was layered with wariness, and Lance realised that his approach had been far more serious than typical conversation between them. “What are you babbling about? If I’m not the only one telling you to leave, then you should really start to take a hint. Now go.”

Lance sagged against the doorframe as realisation bloomed through him. Trust Keith not to hear the one thing he had come to say. “Keith,” he drawled, trying for something more familiar, “if you cleaned your ears out once in a while you might have actually heard what I said. I could lend you some earbuds if you like, or I think there’s an Altean orifice cleanser in the med bay-”

Keith remained silent, and Lance frowned. Since when did _Keith_ not rise to the bait?

Lance’s ears twitched as footsteps reverberated down the hallway – by the sound of things it was Hunk and Pidge, approaching at a far more leisurely pace than Lance had. Hopefully, Keith would open the door before they arrived. Lance decided to try again. “Keith, buddy, you’re not the only one who’s purple.”

A sharp breath crackled through the speaker, and when Keith made no further comment, Lance continued, trying to mask his concern with a lighter voice. “Haggar did something weird to all of us. You’re not the only fuzzball around here now, although your mullet might mean you’re still the fluffiest, and we all know you’re still the Gal-rumpiest.”

The buzz of the speaker cut out as Keith terminated the connection, and when the door didn’t open immediately Lance wondered if he’d gone a bit too far with that pun. As if on cue, the others rounded the corner with a floating tray of food between them, and Lance mock scowled at the grin on Pidge’s face.

“Gal-rumpiest?” she teased as soon as their eyes met.

“Hey, at least I’m trying,” Lance retorted, leaning back against the door. His ears had dropped back self-consciously, and as Pidge’s forehead clearly creased beneath her fur he silently cursed this obvious display of what he was really feeling. As soon as they had dealt with whatever crisis Keith was going through, he was going to have to spend time learning how to control his stupid fluffy ears. What was the use of being the comedian in stressful situations if everybody could tell when his heart wasn’t in it?

Before any more could be said, Lance was thrown off balance as the door slid open. He staggered against the doorframe with a yelp, and a hand clamped over his shoulder from behind, helping him to regain his footing.

“A little warning would have been nice,” Lance grumbled as he turned to face the room.

“Did you want me to open the door or not?” Keith grumbled, dropping his hand as though burned. Glowing golden eyes widened, and he took a step back, fur dark in the dim interior lighting. “ _Lance?_ ”

Lance forced his mouth into what he hoped was a casual smile. “Told you,” he chirped.

Keith shook his head and took a couple more steps back, a tremor visibly washing through his body. “This is a trick,” he whispered. “You’re not… You’re not Lance…”

“Who else would I be?” Lance slowly approached his startled friend, hands up in a gesture of peace. “You’ve still got your mullet, I’ve still got my charm,” he pointedly ignored Hunk’s snort, “we’re the same people no matter how fluffy we are.”

The light from the doorway was blocked by the other two paladins, and Lance felt his smile falter as Keith stepped back again, hand reaching for the Galran blade that rested by his pillow. His pillow that matched his sheets – a crisp blue and white streaked with something dark that sent a pang through Lance’s gut.

“Keith,” Pidge said, “it’s really us.”

Keith froze, chest heaving as his eyes darted from one person to the other. He seemed to be searching for something, and as their gazes met, Lance stared at him, willing him to look past the purple and yellow, to see that they really _were_ his teammates…

“We didn’t mean to startle you,” Hunk insisted, and Lance blinked as Keith broke their staring contest in favour of looking at who had spoken. “We realised that you passed out before any of this happened, and you must be starving so we brought you food…”

Keith’s expression softened and he sank down to sit on the floor, back against the side of his bed. “It really is you guys,” he breathed, raising a shaking hand to rub at his eyes. “Quiznak, for a moment there…”

Lance’s gut twisted, and he felt his ears pin themselves against his skull. Keith wasn’t supposed to be like this – he was the grumpy, overconfident one who would always rise to any challenge. A terrified and uncertain Keith was something Lance had never thought he would encounter, and now, he had no clue what to do.

Before he could push his way through his floundering thoughts, Pidge had snagged the mug from the tray and was forcing it into Keith’s hands. “We’ve got proper food for once,” she announced, parking her backside on the floor so that she was sitting in front of him.

Keith frowned, making no move to drink. “How did this happen?” His fingers were curling around the mug, their trembling quelling somewhat with the movement.

“She injected us with something,” Hunk said, moving to sit on one side of Keith. “It wasn’t quintessence, but it did the job anyway.”

“Quintessence wouldn’t have worked on us because we didn’t have Galran DNA to begin with,” Pidge interrupted.

Lance hesitated before sliding to the floor on the other side of Keith, bumping their shoulders together in a friendly gesture. “It seemed to go the same for us as it did for you though, but I for one totally could have done without the tail.”

Keith groaned, tilting his head back so it rested against the edge of the bed, and the other three chuckled. “Do Galra even _have_ tails?” he grumbled.

“They must hide them,” Hunk mused, positioning the tray so that it floated between them at stomach height. Keith seemed to take this as the final sign that they really were his teammates, raising the cup to his lips. They stayed silent as he took a long draught, his ears perking up somewhat before twitching back as he let out a long, satisfied sigh.

“Space coffee,” Lance chirped, “or hot chocolate or something. Spacoffee. Spoffee. Hey, that’s a pretty good name!”

“Shut up, Lance,” Keith groaned, eyes closing as he took another large swallow.

Lance’s hand had accidentally brushed against Keith’s side below where his jacket cut off, and he glanced down in confusion at the dampness on his fingers. The sight wasn’t surprising, considering the state of the bedsheets – Lance’s fingers were coloured with something dark purple that smelled an awful lot like blood. He glanced up, meeting Pidge’s and Hunk’s eyes, and knew that they had realised it too.

“You should eat something,” Lance said, keeping his voice light. “We have space chips. Spips.”

This time, Keith glared at him. “Keep going and I’ll stab you,” he warned.

Lance raised his clean hand in surrender, surreptitiously wiping his bloody one on the trailing sheet behind them. “Okay, whatever, just eat the damned food before it gets cold.”

Keith huffed, placing his mug on the tray and picking up one of the wedges. “Did we land somewhere?” he asked.

“Mmm,” Pidge hummed, pushing her glasses back up her nose. “We’re getting the ship repaired, but I don’t know if Allura’s told the locals everything yet. The food’s been really good so far.”

Keith nodded. “Yeah,” he mumbled around his mouthful, “this is better than anything we’ve had in months.”

“It’s similar to food at home,” Hunk murmured, the words tinged with something bitter and altogether too familiar.

“Maybe we can get some seeds and learn how to grow the chip plant on the ship,” Lance suggested, “if it is a plant at all.”

He glanced across Keith and felt relief flutter through him and Hunk smiled. “Maybe.”

Silence lapped at them, and Lance leaned his shoulder against Keith’s as the guy ate. Keith didn’t seem disturbed by the lack of conversation, and to Lance it felt companionable – sometimes you just needed to sit with people you cared about after a traumatic experience. No words were needed.

By the time the food was finished, Keith’s ears were no longer drooping, and Lance’s butt had gone numb from sitting on the hard floor. In fact, his entire body ached dully, and as he flexed his fingers curiously his joints smarted. He’d been too preoccupied by food and stress to really pay it much attention before, but now, the dull pain reaching through his flesh and down to his very bones made Lance want nothing more than to go back to bed.

Damned Quiznaking transformation.

Blood was crusted in the creases of his finger joints, and Lance cleared his throat. “Keith, why are you bleeding?”

He felt Keith tense beside him. “I’m not-”

“Don’t even try to lie about it,” Lance growled, jabbing a finger into his friend’s side, right where his black shirt glistened with a small patch of wetness.

Keith hissed at the contact, jolting away. “It’s nothing.”

“Then _show_ us,” Hunk implored, placing a hand on Keith’s other shoulder. “We’re here to help each other.”

Keith’s ears had dropped back again, and he shook his head. “Seriously guys, I just reopened a little cut from before.”

Pidge had leaned forwards, and as Keith glared at Lance, her hand darted out and snagged the hem of his shirt, lifting it high. Keith made a strangled sound, but had nowhere to pull away to. His hands pushed the shirt back down, claws poking through the fabric, but they had all seen – his stomach was covered in bloody furrows, cutting swathes through fur that was matted with blood. The injuries had appeared fairly superficial, but they were fresh enough to still be bleeding.

Lace’s heart stuttered in his chest. How fresh were these? How long had he been in the kitchen? Could he have _prevented_ this???

“ _Keith,_ ” Hunk breathed, his own ears flat against his skull, “what happened?”

Pidge snorted, but when Lance glanced at her there were tears steadily streaming down her cheeks. “Seeing the wrong body in the mirror really sucks, huh?”

Keith’s breathing hitched, catching in a sob, and he burst into tears of his own. The action was so unexpected from _Keith_ of all people that Lance froze for a moment, completely uncertain – should he draw closer, or give the guy some space? Usually Lance was so sure of what to do around his teammates, but since waking up, he had felt like he was drowning.

Pidge tipped herself forwards, practically crawling into Keith’s lap as she wrapped her arms around his middle. Keith simply sat there, resting a hand on her shaking shoulders as they both sobbed brokenly. Hunk was next, sniffles turning to gasping hiccups as he looped an arm around Keith, fingers brushing Lance’s shoulder.

Lance’s own eyes burned as tears soaked through his fur for the second time in under an hour. He leaned his head against Keith’s shoulder, curling in towards their little group and crying for all he was worth. The entire situation felt so _wrong_ , so broken and pent-up, that all of the emotions since the Galran attack flooded forth. Soon enough his head was pounding, the terrible, wrenching sobs of wanton tears ripping through his system. All he could think about was how everything had fallen apart, how they had failed, and how badly he’d messed up. He cried for all of this, for his indecisiveness, for his inadequacy, for everything they had lost and for everything his teammates must be going through right now as well. It was one of those times when everything bad all seemed connected, and thoughts of one just led straight to another. Every time their collective sobbing began to slow, somebody would start again with a particularly anguished cry or wail of despair, and Lance’s tears renewed themselves.

By the time somebody walked through the still-open door, Lance had cried so much that his mouth felt thick, his brain was throbbing, and his eyes were swollen and stinging. However, the tears continued in that way that they did when you’d cried so much that it was simply impossible to stop.

A gentle hand closed around Lance’s wrist, and he squinted up at Shiro’s truly miserable face. Their leader hadn’t been spared the transformation – he was just as purple as the rest of them, his dense fur puffed out in agitation, ears drooping low and round golden eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Guys,” he whispered, voice husky and mouth a thin slash across his face that mirrored the purple, fur-less scar that stretched over the bridge of his nose, “it’s going to be okay.”

Pidge jerked up at Shiro’s voice, twisting around and launching herself at him with a wail. She curled herself into him and he tenderly wrapped his other arm around her, clutching Lance’s wrist tightly to keep his balance. Lance was suddenly painfully reminded of how much younger she was, and the furiously simmering Pidge in the kitchen earlier morphed into a Pidge trying desperately to keep her distress under wraps.

Keith hunched forwards, pressing his hands over his face with deep, shuddering breaths as Shiro murmured “I’m here, it’s alright, we’re gunna get through this together…” A tear tracked its way through their leader’s fur, and he sniffed before visibly blinking back the rest. “Come on, everyone,” he soothed, shifting Pidge in his lap so that he could sit down himself, “just let it out, we’ll be okay.”

Something in Lance knew what Shiro was doing – it was familiar, given that Lance had done the same thing plenty of times for his own siblings whenever they needed a good cry. Shiro’s breathing was calm and slow, but loud enough to hear between the group’s combined tears. Over the next few ticks, Lance fixed his thoughts on this pattern, matching the cycles of in and out and best he could. It only took a few minutes for his tears to stop, and Lance sniffed, his nose hopelessly stuffy and matching to the feeling in his head. He felt washed-out, and didn’t know whether he wanted a big glass of water or to just go to sleep. Probably both, if he really thought about it.

Hunk had quieted as well, and both of them stayed in place, lending support behind their weight as Keith slowly calmed between them. Pidge’s breathing was still a little erratic, but her tears seemed to have stopped as well, and she pulled back from Shiro with a tremoring laugh. “Sorry about your shirt,” she said, voice somewhat nasal as she gestured to the wet patches left by her crying.

Shiro smiled, his features taut. “I’ve just been training, so it needed a wash anyway,” he responded, arms remaining loosely around her.

“Best Space Dad ever,” she said, snuggling up against him.

“Spad,” Lance tried, knowing that it was a weak attempt but going for it anyway. “Space Dad. Spad.”

Keith dropped his hands to glare at Lance with eyes that were bloodshot with dark purple. “Shut the bloody hell up,” he responded, his own voice a pathetic grumble.

“Language,” Shiro reprimanded with another plastic smile.

“Yeah, Keith,” Lance jabbed, “don’t get your tail in a twist.”

Keith’s expression morphed from shock into downright feigned fury, lip curling to reveal impressive fangs. “You’d better piss off, McClain, before I claw you apart.”

Lance chuckled, slinging his arm around Keith’s shoulders and giving him a squeeze. “But that would ruin the bonding moment we just had – we _all_ cradled each other in our arms!”

Keith huffed good-naturedly as Hunk gave a couple of soft laughs, and then their large friend was using the bed to lever himself to his feet. “Well, if everyone’s okay then I need some water,” he said, retrieving the tray from where it had been pushed to float out of the way when their cuddle pile of tears had started. “I’m gunna go get some and lie down for a bit, but I’ll leave my door open, so come find me if you need me.”

As Hunk left Lance was struck by how genuinely _good_ his friend was, how undemanding and supportive he tried to be of all of them. He resolved to watch out for him more – it had probably been forever since Hunk had had somebody to lean on when he needed to cry. In fact, now that Lance thought about it, everybody in the team could really do with coming to each other for emotional support more often. Even Shiro needed someone, and as their leader stood with Pidge still wrapped around him, Lance looked up. “Hey, Shiro, if you need someone to talk to or to cry on… we’ve all got you, okay?”

Shiro’s eyes glossed over again. “Thanks,” he said, adjusting Pidge’s sleepy weight in his arms – she had cried so much that her eyelids and ears were drooping, her strength obviously spent. “I’m okay, though.”

Lance snorted, conveying his disbelief as much as possible. He’d just have to be sneaky with Shiro, but that wasn’t exactly new – their leader had never seemed to realise that the entire team took turns taking care of him whenever his anxiety bubbled too high.

Shiro lingered at the threshold of the room. “I’ll leave my door open as well,” he said. “Come find me if you need me.” With quiet footsteps he was gone, the sound of his walking filtering through from the hallway.

Lance was left alone with Keith, and he sighed, that fresh emptiness left by a good cry swelling through his lungs. They sat together for a few moments, breathing slow and steady.

“Come on,” Lance said when he realised that Keith probably wasn’t going to speak on his own, “let’s change your sheets.”

“Why?” Keith mumbled, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet with a wince.

“Blood.”

Keith’s ears flicked, and Lance wondered if it was in the customary annoyance that seemed to accompany most of their interactions, or if they moved due to something else. Sure, their ears all seemed to convey emotion, but if you didn’t know a person’s cues well enough, it was pretty useless to try to interpret the motions. “Sorry,” he mumbled, and Lance had no idea how to respond. How was it that Keith had done this to him several times in the last short while?!

“Don’t be,” he advised, unable to think of a joke and deciding that the situation was probably too flat even if he did have something in mind.

“I tried to scratch my skin off and then cried all over you guys,” Keith spat, tearing off his jacket and spreading his arms with a scowl, fresh tears slipping between his eyelids as he obviously tried to blink them back. His arms were like his stomach, covered in gouges that had stopped bleeding by now but hadn’t yet fully scabbed over, filled with congealing blood the colour of dark plums.

Lance shrugged, fighting down the urge to draw Keith into another hug. “Hunk screamed his lungs out. I had a panic attack. We all reacted badly. Body dysphoria sucks, and you should probably go have a nap in the healing pod, or at least clean those cuts and wash your fur.”

Keith made a frustrated noise, turning to the bed and tearing at the sheets.

“Hey,” Lance said, stepping forwards and placing a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “We’re here for you, Buddy. You don’t need to be alone anymore – we’re all purple, and we’re all gunna help each other. If you get the urge to peel your skin off again, come find me, wake me up if you have to, and we’ll go find some more of that drink or something. I won’t even joke or tease if you don’t want me to.”

Keith sagged, balling the sheets up between his hands. “Whatever,” he mumbled, and Lance felt his own mouth curve upwards ever so slightly.

“Here,” he said, taking the sheets and pillowcase from Keith’s grasp and heading across the room. He stuffed them into the laundry chute, machinery whirring as they were whisked away to wherever the paladins’ washing was dealt with. He headed to the cupboard, procuring fresh linen from its shelf and heading back to the bed. Keith wordlessly helped him to stretch out the fitted sheet first, pulling it into place and securing the corners before laying out the top sheet. “You want a blanket?”

Keith shook his head. “A sheet’s enough in the castle,” he rasped. “This fur will probably make it warmer anyway.”

Lance threw the pillowcase at him before strolling in the direction of the bathroom. His head throbbed worse in the slightly brighter lights, and he leaned against the counter for a moment to gather himself before rummaging through Keith’s drawers. All of their rooms had standard small first aid kits, and Lance found Keith’s with little difficulty. He grabbed a tiny canister from within the box as well as a washcloth that he dampened under the tap before returning.

“Sit,” he ordered, pointing to the edge of the bed.

Keith frowned but did as he was told. “I really don’t-”

“Shut up and let me help you,” Lance snapped, sitting beside him and beginning to gently swipe the cloth over the most matted bits of fur on his arms. “You’re taking your shirt off in a minute, and there might be places you can’t reach.”

Keith grumbled but stayed still and silent, wincing whenever Lance dabbed too close to any of the scratches. Once the fur was somewhat cleaner, Lance uncapped the canister and gave it a shake before spraying over each injury – the spray congealed into a thin covering that would either peel off when washed with a particular soap, or it would fall off naturally on its own in a couple of days. Waterproof yet somehow porous enough to allow air to the wound, it was also its own antiseptic spray – yet another wonder of Altean medicine that would have made any of them rich should they market the stuff back on Earth. It was actually similar to the strips on Lance’s throat, but wasn’t recommended for use that close to the eyes in case of inaccurate spraying.

Once Keith’s arms were done, Lance motioned for him to remove his shirt. He did so without argument, and Lance rubbed gently with the purpling cloth at the scratches that curved over his shoulders. After these had been sprayed, Keith shrugged away from Lance’s touch. “Thanks, but I can do the rest myself.”

Lance fought to ignore the small pang of hurt at those words – Keith just needed space. “You sure you can handle it, Mullet?”

Keith simply held out his hand for the cloth and canister, his expression clearly unamused. “Pretty sure,” he said, and Lance handed over the items before standing and stretching his hands above his head with a groan. If he had ached before, he now throbbed.

“In that case, I’m off to bed,” he said, dropping his arms and sending Keith a stern look. “Put that stuff on the rest of your scratches.”

“I will.” Keith was already running the cloth over the bloody fur between gouges that stretched across his chest.

Lance nodded, heading for the door. “Well, good night, or good space night. Good spight.”

Keith’s groan of exasperation followed him out into the hallway, and despite the headache that pounded behind his eyes, Lance couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come on, we've all encountered that domino crying effect before...  
> *Drops this and runs*


End file.
